Chapter 6 - The Ascent
When the three of them returned to Eleanor's second-floor salon, the room seemed smaller, compressed by the inevitability of the hour. Eleanor was still sitting in her high-backed chair, but she had poured four glasses of water onto a silver tray.
Mateo stopped at the threshold. For a long moment, the two elders simply stared at each other. They were relics of a quiet war fought thirty years prior—one from a penthouse office, the other from a union picket line that never reached the front pages.
"Eleanor," Mateo said, bowing his head slightly.
"You have your father’s shoulders, Mateo," Eleanor said softly. "He was a good man. Arthur was terrified of him."
"Arthur broke him," Mateo said, stepping into the room. "He didn't break me."
"No," Eleanor agreed. "He merely hardened you. That is what men like Arthur do. They turn everyone around them into either mirrors or stone." She gestured toward the envelope on the table. "Julian has read it. Clara has seen it."
Julian walked to the desk, picked up the folder, and slipped it inside his inner jacket pocket. It rested against his heart, thick and sharp-cornered.
"What do you expect me to do on that stage, Grandmother?" Julian asked. "Say the words, watch the foundation implode, and leave everyone to scramble for the pieces?"
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"Rebuilding requires demolition, Julian," Eleanor said, rising slowly to her feet. Her knee clicked softly under the fabric of her blue gown. "You were taught that leadership is preservation. It isn't. Leadership is knowing when to burn the banner so the people inside don't suffocate on the smoke."
The clock on the mantel struck eight. Below, the applause rolled in a rhythmic wave: Marcus Hayes had finished his opening remarks.
